


With One Hand You Calm Me, With One Hand I'm Still

by flamingosarepink



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Love/Hate Relationship, M/M, Rivals to Lovers, Sequel to When It's All Over I'll Let You Know, set during the German Grand Prix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 18:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20050732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamingosarepink/pseuds/flamingosarepink
Summary: There’s a hint of frustration to Charles’s voice. Given their transgressions of the past, his reaction to Max’s presence isn’t entirely unfounded.





	With One Hand You Calm Me, With One Hand I'm Still

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration has struck once again! The title is from the song Munich by Editors.

Charles wanders into Max’s room sometime around midnight, making use of the extra room key that he’d been given in the process. There is a feeling of uneasiness to this action, and the feeling is one of closely held uneasiness at the fact that here he is, seeking out his rival like this on a night that is neither after the race nor at the beginning of the week when everyone is too busy getting settled before the first practice sessions. It is the night before the German Grand Prix. One race between now and the Summer break. Maybe the reason for this unlikely visit is the fact that when that happens, the two of them will go their separate ways and for a while, perhaps forget about each other. While Charles doubts the possibility of that to ever happen he and Max lead their own lives. Seemingly intertwined through their sport, but ever so apart otherwise for one reason or another. It isn’t any wonder that they can stand each other at all. For that reason, Charles wonders as he softly closes the hotel room door behind him how this all even started between them in the first place. Not surprisingly, he’s lost his train of thought just thinking of how numerous times. 

His inner self has also not surprisingly warned him against catching any kind of feelings given the many risks involved. Unfortunately, the part of himself that Charles is not entirely consciously aware of has already long since thrown caution to the wind on that front. 

The bed dips under his weight, slow and deliberate so as to not wake Max who seems to be sleeping soundly. But just as Charles slowly swings his leg into bed before sinking under the covers, he hears a half-asleep exhale of breath along with the soft rustle of shifting bed sheets from behind him. 

Even in the darkness of the room that comes along with it being night time, Charles can make out Max’s face. 

They’ve been through this kind of situation, or something roughly like it, to know that Charles’s thoughts tend to weigh the heaviest on his mind at night. It’s only natural to feel the expectations that you set for yourself and the expectations set for you by others, Max supposes, the night before a race. 

“I’m sorry.” is all that Charles says as he settles, shifting under the covers so that they are now facing one another. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” Max asks, simply and voice at a whisper but low with sleep as he shifts close but not too close. Charles can ever so slightly see a softness to the face of his sometime rival that he knows the other shows hardly, if ever. 

“There was something I was thinking about.” Max heaves out a another tired sigh, having heard those words from Charles before in almost this same scenario. The two of them are laying close enough to each other to be a comfort, but that’s about it. Tonight is not the night for either of them to do anything they might regret the next day come race time when everything is on the line for the two of them and none of what goes on between them here or has gone on in the past will matter.

“Goodnight, Charles.” Max whispers after having turned over on his side again. The lack of contact between them doesn’t seem to matter as Charles finds sleep overtaking him easier than it did earlier when he felt perhaps, a little bit more alone. 

When Max wakes up the next morning, Charles is already gone with no trace of him having been there other than a barely noticeable humid dampness from a seemingly long ago taken hot shower that greets him once he opens the bathroom door. 

\- - - - - 

As pre-race grids tend to be, the atmosphere is tense and chaotic, and the intermittent rain makes it even worse as suddenly, carefully laid plans go out of the window. 

The pit crews go about the cars like worker bees preparing the car. Reporters giving their last predictions of what the race will bring and interviewing those who are willing. Drivers mentally preparing themselves. Max himself pays little attention to the things that go on outside of the pre-race world he’s created for himself- headphones and music on as he goes through in his mind what he needs to do to win this race. At some point in this frenetic universe, Max catches sight of Charles as the drivers gather for the anthem but he doesn’t even come close to looking in his direction. Always with that laser focus, Max thinks to himself as he makes his way back to his car. He too is laser focused, with the same goal in mind. It’s the goal all of the drivers have, the goal that is more achievable for some rather than others- for the reasons that perhaps their team has more or less money or the driver themselves has a lack of focus come race day or perhaps a mix of both. Once he is settled back near his own car, he turns to glance back in the direction he came from- catching of a glimpse of Ferrari red all the way back in p10 in the mix of all the others.

The cars head out for their formation lap with the safety car behind them, lining up on the grid and these are perhaps the tensest moments- before the race when all the cars are in their places, when the whole track is so quiet you could hear a pin drop for the briefest moment, when your eyes look to the starting light as they count down three two one… lights out! and then the sound from all the cars rushing to speed for clean breaks rings out at once. Only, this is not that day. What was a almost cloudless bright blue German summer sky is now an iron grey- rain falling steadily from laden clouds.

Max starts horribly. Somehow, the Alfa is in front of him and he puts it down to the fact of the tentative start from some of the drivers that others take advantage of. But on the second lap he manages to drive up to third. He doesn’t really pay too much attention to anything else going on save for what actually is happening with the car in his hands. 

On the twenty sixth lap, his car spins on account of having no grip. He laments the fact he doesn’t have soft tires on the team radio, but manages to right the car. Max lets out a heavy breath that he finds he was holding in for longer than he realized. 

Through luck and by keeping his head while everyone else - and their ill prepared pit crews- around him is losing theirs, Max ends up winning the race.

Of all his wins, this one feels the sweetest given the challenging conditions; celebrating the win with the playing of his anthem and the spray of Champagne from his fellow podium finishers that never gets old. But somewhere along the way though, somewhere between the time he leaves the podium and heads down to the media pen, he hears a sliver of a passing conversation. _This was such a great race, it was a shame Leclerc made that mistake._ In the media pen, in the midst of post race interviews Charles glances at Max across the way from over his shoulder, finding it hard to squash the feeling of disappointment at having not finished. Max manages to give him the best thing he can at the moment given the public setting they find themselves in -a soft conciliatory smile- but Charles turns around to look at the reporter again. The reaction given is natural, Max supposes. The part of Max that realizes he feels something more than he’d like to admit for his fellow driver deflates. 

At some point later, he finds himself back in the familiar peace of the hotel hallway. Sliding in the key card, he tries to open the door but the light flashes red, indicating that he has used the wrong one. After trying the other keycard, the one that isn’t to his room but Charles’s, he goes inside as the door clicks shut behind him.

The room is far more organized than Max last remembers, and luggage cases sit in their places having been organized and almost packed. Sounds of falling water reach Max’s ears. His legs carrying him to the bed, which he collapses on top of with an grateful sigh having found that he feels exhaustion more than he previously thought. 

What breaks him from his short lived sleep is the sound of Charles’s voice. 

“Did you come in to gloat?” Max comes around some more from his slightly sleep addled state. There’s a hint of frustration to Charles’s voice. Given their transgressions of the past, his reaction to Max’s presence isn’t entirely unfounded.

“What? Course not.” The look in Charles’s eyes is one of surprise, although he hides that surprise well on his face. His hair still has the look of being damp from his shower.

He turns around to give his attention to the contents of his luggage without another word. Max sits back against the pillows on the bed, watching as Charles pulls on a shirt to go with the pants he is already wearing. The silence between them, as Max finds, feels awkward and uncomfortable. 

His next words are carefully thought out and not ones Max would usually say, surely not to a fellow competitor. Yet, Charles isn’t just anyone and this requires some level of honesty. “I’m sorry your race went to shit, you were doing as good as anyone would expect before that.” His usual bluntness standing at the front as usual. Charles turns to look at him, and judging from the look on his fellow driver’s face, Max starts to think that maybe his words weren’t as carefully thought out as he had previously hoped. 

“You’re actually apologizing? Are you joking?” 

“I don’t think I am.” Charles exhales sharply at the very typical answer.

“But I would rather win with you at your best on a good day.”

Again, the silence stands between the two of them. Something about the look in Charles’s eyes shifts, and for a moment Max thinks the other has managed to read his thoughts about having gotten feelings that he wouldn’t let on. Maybe he made it too obvious with his word choice, but everything he said was true. As Charles walks to the opposite side of the bed, Max looks up at the crown moulding on the ceiling as he squashes a feeling that bubbles up at the thought of almost feeling as if he got too vulnerable. The bed dips under Charles’s weight, and then stills. Max feels their knees touch ever so slightly. Glancing back to the other next to him, there’s a softness accompanying Charles’s features. Then, a soft touch of lips that makes Max feel as at ease as he could at this moment in time and suddenly, things don’t feel so strange.

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to leave the "playlist" of songs that I used to write When It's All Over I'll Let You Know and this fic in the end notes because it's the music that I listened to while writing both. Onwards to Hungary and the impending Summer break! 
> 
> Specialist/Interpol  
If I Ever Feel Better/Phoenix  
Etude op.10 no.3 in E Major/Chopin  
The Changingman/Paul Weller  
Wild Wood/Paul Weller  
Gymnopedie no.1/Eric Satie  
Gnossienne no.1/Eric Satie  
Tombeau de la Reyne/Jacques de Gallot  
Ballade no.1 in G minor/Chopin  
Für Elise/Beethoven  
Munich/Editors


End file.
